


That Chill Divine

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24872737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: Gavin’s got Michael in his ear telling him the patrol route of the estate guards down to the second, but the only thing that has Gavin’s attention is one of the models.
Relationships: Gavin Free/Ryan Haywood
Comments: 8
Kudos: 69





	That Chill Divine

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a [not!fic idea](https://vagrantblvrd.tumblr.com/post/621606258852691968/im-sure-its-been-done-a-bajillion-times-by-now) I had. 
> 
> Because reasons. 
> 
> :D?

Gavin’s got Michael in his ear telling him the patrol route of the estate guards down to the second, but the only thing that has Gavin’s attention is one of the models.

Tall. 

Broad shoulders. 

Hair that’s grown a touch too long than the way he usually wears it if the faint look of annoyance that crosses his face as a wayward lock of it falls into his eyes yet once again.

Pretty face, as these things go. Excellent bone structure and the crooked smile he gives one of the models standing beside him as she murmurs something to him is rather on the charming side of things, isn’t it?

“Gavin? _Gavin_. Are you even listening to me, you fuck?”

Gavin blinks as Michael's dulcet tones redirects his attention where it should be, what with the mission he’s on at the moment and such.

Checking to see if anyone’s noticed his...odd behavior as he all but ogled the poor man, Gavin’s relieved to see the people around him are as oblivious as ever. 

Sipping expensive champagne and wine and nibbling exquisite hors d'oeuvres as they chatter on about this scandal or that. Smiles and laughter just as fake as the snow decorating the estate for the winter wonderland theme they seem to have embraced wholeheartedly.

“Of course I am, Michael,” Gavin soothes, ducking past a member of the waitstaff as they swing by on another circuit with their tray of drinks on offer for gala goers. “You know I’m always riveted by what you have to say.”

Not a complete lie, really, given that Michael is a reliable font of entertainment and rough sort of wisdom when he puts his mind to it.

Gavin feels the corners of his mouth twitch up into a small smile at Michael’s derisive snort at Gavin’s pile of utter bullshit, murmurs an apology to a woman he almost bumped into and lets himself into a side door that leads into a gallery of some sort.

Should, if the agency gave Michael the right intel this time, didn’t both it up the way they did with the mission in Greece a few months back.

“Where the hell are you going?” Michael demands, annoyance shifting to something laced with worry. Perhaps thinking Gavin’s going off-book once again and failing to let Michael in on things until it’s too late. “Gavin? Answer me right the fuck now, you asshole.”

Still calm though, Michael. No doubt following Gavin’s route via the security system Gavin so helpfully tapped into for him earlier that morning. 

Incredible what you can do with a laminated ID on a lanyard and air of someone who’s meant to be where they claim they are. Not his problem if some some poor estate staff or underpaid security guard wasn’t briefed as to his presence there and all that as he had a job to do and wasn’t about to let them stop him from doing it. 

“Oh, lovely,” Gavin says, when he takes a look around the room he’s entered. “It is a gallery.”

Well, rather more like a private collection of...things.

Paintings behind glass, statues and bits of pottery and such in glass cases. A suit of armor beside the exit on the far side of the room and a display with antique swords and other weaponry nearby.

There’s a moment of heavy silence from Michael, one that Gavin takes advantage of as he investigates the cases closer.

Glances over to a corner where there’s a hidden camera tucked up high on the wall, and can’t help himself as he gives a cheeky little wave.

Laughs when he hears Michael's disgruntled grumble and the camera leaves off pretending it’s working as it’s meant to and tracks Gavin’s movement around the room instead.

“You’re an asshole,” Michael mutters, but there’s just enough amusement to it that Gavin knows he’s still in a good moon, enough of one to go along with Gavin’s antics at any rate. “You’re an asshole and I hate you.”

Gavin bites back a laugh, and gives the camera a sad look, exaggerated just a bit that it’s easier to make out in the dim lighting of the room.

“ _Asshole_.”

Shaking his head, Gavin steals a look at the far-too expensive watch he’s wearing, silly little status symbol to mark him as just another important person like everyone else here enjoying the gala.

If Michael's intel is right, and so far it has been, his target should be joining the crowd for the fashion show about to begin soon.

Which means Gavin needs a disguise as means to get closer to them, something that will allow him better access to them.

“You know,” Gavin says, flashing the camera a wink as he heads back the way he came. “I dabbled in photography when I was younger.”

That’s not quite a lie either, but he he knows to some people cameras are cameras, even if there’s a distinct difference involved. 

Moving pictures and not, and anyway, it was a long time ago.

Michael’s silence as Gavin shuts the door behind him and navigates the ebb and flow of the current the gala’s crowd creates is heavier than his earlier one, with reason.

He knows, Michael does, knows things about Gavin even the agency doesn’t. Things that never made it into Gavin’s files, the ones he’s seen for himself and the ones he’s not supposed to know exist. Little stories and bits and pieces of Gavin’s life _before_ that he’s shared, given up to Michael over the years.

One of the few people Gavin trusted implicitly even though he knew damn well it could be a mistake to do so, had the scars to prove it and all from his previous agency.

And yet - 

“Yeah?” Michael asks, deliberately casual, curious but only a touch, and very much Michael. “I used to dabble in first-aid.”

That.

What?

Gavin bites his cheek to keep from laughing, making a spectacle of himself that would draw undue attention as he spots a likely avenue of opportunity.

A photographer here for the fashion show, nose upturned as one of the estate staff politely tries to get him to stick to the approved areas.

“What does that even mean?” Gavin asks, stepping out of the flow of people around him to take a quick moment to check his phone as cover to observe the scene playing out before him. “Michael, what does that mean?”

There’s a sigh, so very put-upon from Michael, and Gavin listens with delight as Michael recounts his teenage years spent as part of a first-aide squad as he follows the photographer who’s off to have a temper tantrum elsewhere for not getting his way.

Files it all away as both useful information about Michael because you just never know in this business, and something unbelievably entertaining. Something to tease Michael about, because of course he will.

Michael’s story comes to an end just as the photographer sneaks past a security guard and into a room he’s definitely not allowed access to, and Gavin does the same. Waits a beat for Michael’s, “Clear,” before he enters the room after the photographer.

A meeting room of some sort, and balcony that overlooks one of the gardens on the grounds. Glass doors open and the photographer on the phone to someone. Blathering on about deals and promises, and - 

Oh.

An ultimatum that sounds rather unpleasant, and clearly the man’s up to no good, so Gavin doesn’t feel all that bad about sneaking up on him and catching him from behind once he ends his call. Times it just right so his arm is pressing against the man’s throat before he starts to turn around, doesn’t see Gavin at all.

Gavin’s careful about it, though, doesn’t have a reason to want the man dead after all. 

Still a bit of a novelty to be working for an agency that frowns on unnecessary use of force on missions, doesn’t like having to explain away non-target deaths when it comes time to discuss funding and the like.

So.

“Keep his ID if you can,” Michael says as Gavin takes the lanyard around the man’s neck along with his camera bag and other essential bits. “I have a feeling he’s not one of the good guys here.”

He wouldn’t be the only one, considering the guest list to this little gala. All kinds of best-kept secrets and perks and bonuses that come from liberal amounts of bribery and other forms of corruption.

Gavin pockets the man’s ID because Michael has a point, doesn’t he. Could use the agency’s resources to determine who he is and what kind of skeletons he his closet go along with it, but why make things more difficult than they need to be when they can simply use his ID to start things off?

A quick look around shows there aren’t any ideal hiding places to put the man where he won’t be easily found, so Gavin settles on stashing him behind a large potted palm tree on the balcony. 

“Nice,” Michael says, like the bastard he is. “Textbook.”

Gavin sighs, because _Michael_ , and makes sure to close the balcony doors after himself, and after a brief moment of deliberation flips the lock for security reasons.

Smiles to himself at Michael's laughter in his ear and uses the ornate mirror on one of the walls in the meeting room to make sure he looks the part of a fashion photographer on assignment, with a few tweaks, of course.

Fusses with the lanyard to look like the ID’s been torn off, tangled up in the strap of the camera bag in Gavin’s haste to make it to the gala in time and lost somewhere along the way without his noticing. 

A shame, really, but if anyone asks he can always call someone up to vouch for him, but given the hour they won’t be pleased about it, and didn’t they know? Gavin happens to be very good friends with a major donor involved in the efforts the gala is being held for and so on. Might reflect badly on whoever happens to be a stickler for proper procedure and protocol, and honestly, just let Gavin through and it’ll all be fine.

“God, you’re a douche.” Michael pauses, so very pleased with himself because he knows Gavin’s preferred tactics in situations like this, knows he’s going to go with puffed up self-important prick to get past any obstacles that might spring up. “I mean your cover’s a douche. Clearly.”

Hmm, yes. 

Of course.

“Thanks, Michael,” Gavin says, and bolstered by Michael’s sincere words of support, heads to the room the fashion show’s being held in search of his target.

========

There’s a bit of an incident, someone with the catering staff and a tray of drinks and Gavin’s clothes ruined, but - 

“Don’t worry, love,” Gavin says, foregoes the douche persona he’s meant to have on to reassure the poor girl he’s not upset with her, won’t be looking to get her fired for bit of clumsiness. “It’s fine, I’ll just send the cleaning bill to my boss. He won’t even notice.”

She gives him a look of surprise, and a dismaying amount of hope and God, she’s so young. Doesn’t seem old enough to be working here, serving alcohol the way she is. Something off about the whole thing - 

“I’ll look into it,” Michael murmurs because he’s seen the same things too, and Gavin takes the girl’s hands frantically wiping at the wine stain on his suit jacket in his.

She’s so worked up she doesn’t even notice at first, and when she does she freezes. Not sure what that’s all about and Gavin manages a smile for her. Squeezes her hands before letting them go.

“Really,” he says, as sincerely as he can. “No harm done.”

Several of her coworkers are watching from a safe distance, a few obviously torn as to whether they should step in or not. 

“Are you sure?” the girl asks, nervous but regaining her composure. “I could get my supervisor for you?”

Gavin’s certain it would cost her her job if she did, so he shakes his head. 

“No, it’s not necessary. I’m in a bit of a rush myself,” he says, and gestures at the camera bag he’s carrying. “Fashion show to get to, you know.”

The girl’s eyes widen and she throws a look at her coworkers, which is finally enough for one of them to come over. Concerned look on her face that goes stern as she approaches, moves to put herself between the girl and Gavin, protective all over.

“Is there a problem?” 

Gavin opens his mouth to tell her there isn’t, just a harmless accident, but the girl speaks up before he can.

“He’s here for the fashion show,” she says, and gestures to where the show’s already in progress thumping bass and flashing lights and a very fancy production indeed. “We can let him use the servant entrance since I made him late, right?”

Oh, those are some damn effective puppy-dog eyes the girl has, and Gavin watches as her coworker clearly debates with herself about the consequences of doing so. Letting someone she doesn’t know use an off-limits area without proper authorization as some kind of favor for not being a bastard to the poor girl in front of them.

“I don’t know - “ she starts to say, but the girl’s puppy-dog eyes somehow intensify and the woman doesn’t stand a chance against them.

She closes her eyes, and sighs, oddly reminding Gavin of Michael for some reason.

When she opens her eyes again she gives the girl a stern look, one without any weight to it and looks to Gavin.

“Follow me,” she says, and pushes the girl towards their other coworkers who have been creeping closer all this time. “Early break for her, you two stay with her.”

And then Gavin’s being led through a side door and through the kitchens. Gets a few curious looks, but his guide has them back to work and minding their tasks with a glance as they sweep through. 

She stops in another narrow hallway, music from the fashion show nearly deafening on the other side of an unmarked door.

“Not a word about this to anyone, if you don’t mind,” she says, and to Gavin’s surprise there’s a threat to it, eyes going to the lanyard around Gavin’s neck and up again to meet his. Smirks, like she knows something she shouldn’t. And then, “Have a nice day, sir!”

She walks away without a backwards glance, and Gavin’s left there feeling like he’s just missed something. Not a good feeling, seeing as how something like that can get people killed, get _him_ killed, not a good feeling at all.

“What the fuck was that just now?” Michael asks, sounding just as unsettled as Gavin feels. 

Gavin would dearly love to know that too, but he’s still got a mission to see to. Target arriving soon and no room for error and all that.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he says, and reaches for the doorknob because there’s no time to worry about anything else at the moment with the target flying out as soon as the fashion show ends.

Michael makes this indecipherable noise, somewhere between disgust and resignation because he knows the stakes as well as Gavin does. No time to do some looking into the girl or her coworker now.

Later, perhaps, assuming things haven’t gone tits up by then.

Taking a deep breath to brace himself, Gavin opens the door and slips through to find himself along the same wall the tech crew have set up towards the back of the room. 

Unnoticed by the crowd, and even the few techs nearby cast him brief glances before turning their attention back to their work or hurrying along to ferry messages and the like.

“Oh, lovely,” he says, squeezing past a tech fussing with equipment to make his way towards the catwalk. 

It’s more reflex than design that has him keeping to the darker area towards the back, curtains marking off the backstage area and hiding the behind the scenes business to make the fashion show a success.

And it does seem to be one, Gavin recognizing faces from legitimate fashion publications and a few known to have shady dealings front and center to view both the models and designer clothing on display.

Photographers filling up film rolls and memory cards alike and buzz of conversation as the crowd voices their opinions to one another.

Everyone’s focus on the models on the catwalk, and easy enough to go about unnoticed.

“Target’s running late,” Michael says, and Gavin doesn’t think he’s imagining the frustration to his voice. “Blend in.”

Gavin doesn’t quite roll his eyes at that, because it’s a bit unnecessary as Gavin does know his job. Been at it for a while now, knows how things work.

The camera’s a beauty, not quite top of the line model, but a damn fine piece of equipment anyway you look at it.

It takes a moment for him to familiarize himself with it, intuitive little thing that it is, and then Gavin’s moving closer to the catwalk and taking his own set of photos. Moves about a bit to make it seem he’s looking for a better angle of the models and their dresses and suits and all that, although his real focus is on the crowd.

Faces he recognizes from past briefings as people of note for one reason or another, and the occasional unfamiliar faces of the people accompanying them.

Michael and the others back the agency will be able to identify them, flag them for further investigation if it feels prudent because you just never know.

“North entrance,” Michael says, and Gavin lowers his camera, pretends to muck about with the settings as he steps back.

Happens to glance up towards the spot Michael mentioned and sees his target enter the room with a pair of bodyguards and his assistant beside him.

Far too public a place to deal with him now, although Gavin has to admit he is tempted. Could probably do it if he’d bothered to set up a distraction of some sort ahead of time. As it is he’ll have to do things carefully to avoid setting off an alarm.

The target doesn’t appear to be in a hurry, going over to greet some of their associates in the crowd. Smiling and shaking hands and pulling closer ones in for a hug and so on.

Done with his pretense of adjusting his camera’s setting, Gavin lifts it to take a few photos of the target and his associates - just in case – and happens to glance at the catwalk.

Doesn’t know why at first, motion at the corner of his eye that caught his attention perhaps, and -

“Oh my God,” Michael says, groans, amusement and annoyance and all sorts of similar emotions ins his voice. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

It’s the model from before, the one with the excellent bone structure and broad shoulders strutting down the catwalk like -well. 

Definitely a reason for something like that to catch his attention even if he hadn’t known what it was. 

Shift in the crowd’s energy? 

_Something._

Gavin feels a bit incredulous himself because the model’s whole demeanor has changed, shifted. 

Where before he seemed almost awkward, unsure, standing about with the other models waiting for their turn in the makeup chair and watching the crowd who would be watching them.

He’s never let something distract him from a mission before, and he won’t now, but he’d be lying to himself if he claimed he didn’t understand the impulse watching the model.

“Gavin.”

Too much amusement, _knowing_ in Michael’s voice, and Gavin knows he won’t let this go anytime soon. Privilege of friendship and all that, and Gavin laughs.

Is about to move on, go back to the mission when the model turns up the flair or whatever one would call it, fancy little turn with some hip action to hit and starts strutting his way towards Gavin.

Or, really, towards the end of the catwalk and the backstage area, but for a brief disorienting moment it feels as though he’s looking right for Gavin. Intends to walk on over and – what, Gavin doesn’t know, but it’s certainly something, isn’t it?

The model’s eyes narrow as he draws closer, chin lifting and something off to all of it that has Gavin rooted to the spot. 

Something is off, and he can’t put his finger on it, and then the model’s sweeping past him, haughty air about him as he disappears backstage leaving Gavin standing there like an utter idiot.

“ - listening to me, fuckface? The target’s on the move!”

Michael's voice jolts Gavin back to his senses, has him genuinely fumbling the camera as he looks towards the last place the target had been standing.

He’s gone of course, and Gavin shakes himself as Michael snips out directions, annoyed and concerned and touches of real anger starting to creep in because of all that.

“I’m on it,” Gavin says, making his way along the edges of the room to catch up to the target.

========

Gavin takes no pleasure in his job, and for the most part no satisfaction in it, ending a life.

Sometimes, though - 

Well.

Sometimes there’s something to it that feels.

Not justice, perhaps, for the lives ruined by the targets he’s assigned to, vile people with no regard for anyone else but themselves, but he thinks he could almost convince himself it’s close enough to it to matter.

This time the target’s a weapons dealer who dabbles in other kinds of dealing. 

Drugs. 

Exotic animals. 

People.

Smart enough to make the right connections, network, as it were. Use blackmail as a precision weapon rather than a blunt one, and got away with far too much for far too long.

Thought they were untouchable after years of profiting off the misery and suffering of others, but they died like anyone else in the end, didn’t they.

Not enough proof to convict them and too much a problem to allow to remain alive, and so Gavin and Michael and their little agency that handles problems just like this one.

“It’s done,” Gavin says, as though Michael doesn’t know. “Exits?”

The briefing for the mission offered him a generous selection of them, but he’s learned that the tiniest of things can affect whatever plans he may devise. Can cut him off from one avenue of approach without realizing it until it’s too late.

A damn good reason for someone as skilled as Michael in his ear and watching through the estate’s security cameras. 

Another pair of eyes and so much more watching Gavin’s back while he’s in the field.

“All good for now,” Michael says, a certain wryness to it because he knows as well as Gavin does how crucial this next bit it.

Simple enough to get in and eliminate a target, it’s getting back out again afterwards that’s the tricky part.

No telling if someone will discover the body before Gavin’s managed to get out, sound and alarm and force him to reevaluate the situation on the fly.

Gavin snorts, shaking his head as he makes his way out of the storage area he tracked the target to before finding an opportune moment to kill them. Bodyguard tucked away safely in a large crate and sleeping off the effects of the sedative darts Gavin brought along with him just for that purpose.

Doesn’t run into anyone along the way which is both a relief and a good sign he may make it out of here without serious incident.

So of course the moment he enters the stairwell leading up to the main floor where the gala is starting to wind down, an alarm starts wailing.

He looks up out of habits, some ingrained response, reflex, whatever, even his training hasn’t drummed out of him and pauses.

“What on Earth?” he asks, partly directed at Michael, partly out of honest confusion.

Nothing he’s done tonight should have set off any alarms yet. Michael assuring him any guards or staff or gala attendees were anywhere near the storage space where he’d killed the target.

Something else going on, and that’s definite reason for concern given everything, really.

Notable figures that might be assigned to Gavin as targets in the future, the sort who’ve made a great deal of enemies over the years. Priceless artifacts all about the estate, ripe pickings for a clever thief with the gala and fashion show going on.

“I don’t know, just get the fuck out of there!” Michael snaps, and the urgency in his voice galvanizes Gavin into motion, has him running up the stairs to burst onto the main floor.

It’s not quite pandemonium he walks into, but too close to comfort.

Gala attendees on the edge of panic as staff and security try to calm them down, herd them towards the closest exits without further incident.

Easy to get swept along with them, escape that way, but - 

“Fuck,” Michael says, because there’s a checkpoint up ahead. 

Heavily armed security checking IDs to faces before letting people through, and Gavin is not on the invited guest list at all. Will be found out in a heartbeat and not good at all, really. 

So.

Gavin stumbles, trips his way out of the crowd and through a side door without being noticed in all the chaos. 

Relies on the map of the estate he committed to memory to guide him to one of the possible exits that seemed likeliest. Through the basement kitchen, and the servant's entrance.

Risky, but still a better bet than out the front door or other ground floor exits available.

Gavin moves with purpose once he’s down there, man with a mission and all that and thankfully doesn’t come across anyone who might question it, him.

Wonder what a fashion photographer is doing down here, what he thinks he’s about when he’s not allowed access to the area at all.

He’s almost to the exit when he hears footsteps behind him, loud, echoing against the stone brick, and doesn’t look back. 

Not full-on running, as that would be a dead giveaway he’s guilty of something, just.

Someone in a rush and realizing they’ll be cutting things too close if they dawdle any longer, and relieved when he spots the exit. 

Michael’s silent in his ear, no advice to be given Gavin doesn’t already know by heart.

“Goddammit,” Gavin hisses, because of course the exit door’s locked. Has to take out his lock picks and work by feel knowing he’s living on borrowed time more so than usual.

A stroke of luck the exit’s half-hidden by large crates stacked beside it, ready to be picked up by a service later. 

Hides what he’s doing from view, but it’s still not enough when he hears the footsteps behind him speed up. Catches a startled, “What the hell?” just as he gets the last tumbler and the doorknob turns under his hand.

Glances back at a commotion behind him – rookie mistake and he knows it – only to see one of the kitchen staff accosting Gavin’s pursuer, demanding to know what they’re doing there and completely unaware of Gavin.

“Gavin?”

It’s the model from before.

Hands up in a placating gesture as the tiny woman speaking to him pokes him in the chest, forces him to give ground.

“It’s him,” Gavin says, stupid, so stupid of him to just stand about watching when he should be getting out of there. “Michael, it’s the model.”

No need to elaborate after everything, and he almost laughs at Michael's heartfelt response to that bit of information.

“What the _fuck_?”

No answers to that either, and Gavin doesn’t have the time to bother with one at the moment.

Gavin gives himself a shake and turns to leave, but the model happens to look up as he does. Catches Gavin’s eye and there’s a distinct _moment_ between them.

Awareness that something isn’t right, and just too damn suspicious to be any kind of coincidence.

“What are you doing, you idiot? Get the fuck out of there!”

Right, right.

The woman’s still haranguing the model, distraction enough to allow Gavin to make his escape.

Jogs up the stairs that lead up to ground level and around to the servant’s entrance where he can reach the street and car he has parked nearby.

========

“So,” Michael says, and Gavin can hear him tap-tap-taping away as he packs for his flight home. 

Anything important on his person, but it would look odd to housekeeping staff if he didn’t have some things laying about his hotel room. 

Thus the packing.

Still keyed up from the near-disaster earlier. Mystery of the model he can’t seem to leave alone, pieces of a puzzle he doesn’t know the shape of just yet.

Obviously bother Michael as well, if his muttering is anything to go by.

“I can’t seem to find anything on your model,” he says.

Gavin assumes that means the man must have been using a false ID or something similar, and is about to ask if Michael thinks Matt or one of the others might be able to help on that front when Michael speaks up again.

“I mean,” he starts. “He was all over the place right? Model for the fashion show and shit like that, you’d think he’d be everywhere.”

Gavin doesn’t like the sound of that, where Michael's headed.

“I went over the security footage and can’t find him anywhere.”

Oh, dear.

Gavin sets his toiletries bag aside and takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Anywhere, Gavin,” Michael stresses, and Gavin can feel something like a headache starting to form. “Not even on the catwalk, and don’t think that’s kind of strange?”

Incredibly.

Gavin sighs, wondering what kind of mess they’ve manage to stumble into this time as Michael goes on to detail all the ways Gavin’s model – that’s how he chooses to refer to him which is just a bit insulting – is clearly not what he presented himself as.

Shame, really, because past experience has taught Gavin there’s no way this ends well for anyone.


End file.
